hughes clues
by La Salle De Bain
Summary: [oneshot] Maes makes some friends. [spoilers]


**hughes clues // a fullmetal alchemist one-shot**

**A/N**: I'M NOT DEAD, I SWEAR, GUYS. I am back and kickin'! This is the longest one-shot I've ever written, so I'm giving myself a three second party or something. D: (And, hah, I hope you enjoy the title as much as _I_ do—in fact, I'm currently working on a Naruto one-shot called _'dara the explorer_. ROFLCOPTER.) Enjoy! C:

* * *

Man, oh man—it is_ hard_ being me.

I can see you're not convinced.

I know I have very side character-esque qualities. I'm not—_ahem_—sexy, I have these huge glasses, I'm super-duper rugged. I _do_ have an ADORABLE daughter—not to mention a smokin' wife, unlike a certain raven-haired bachelor who shall be remained unnamed…COUGHROYCOUGH.

…Yeah, I should get that checked.

But, anyway, you'd think my life would be absolutely wonderful. I'm in the military, my house could make any other mansion blush (personficationally speaking, of course), and, as you see by the mere four words sandwiched between those two gorgeous parentheses, my vocabulary is _amazing _and my mother thinks it is, too. I should make my own dictionary—MAES WAYS. Doesn't that just _roll_ off the uvula?

I should really stop beating my own drum. I'm not THAT great. Well, I wasn't, anyway. Because I should be speaking in past tense. Because I'm sorta, uh, dead.

What, I didn't mention that?

It happened many a-moons ago, on a very quiet night. I was in this phone booth, calling people up (I forget who), when what was _supposed _to be Maria Ross walked up to me. And it wasn't Maria, obviously. It was that gender-confused, green-haired, leather clad, super pale guy whose name I've forgotten because, hell, I shouldn't remember who killed me—IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT.

Anyway, so he transforms into my wife, because he is _just that evil_, and BA-BANG! There goes me. That simple.

Back when I was a young kid, I always wanted a climactic death. Like, fireworks destroying my bladder (what a useless organ), gun power causing my face to collapse onto itself, taking a bullet for the like…Prime Minister of like…Malaysia or something. But I DID take a bullet. In the damn face.

_NOT VERY CLIMACTIC._

So then I was in this blue room, with white cushions and fluffy seats and this HUGE golden door. This guy with long, white hair and a collar was staring at me. It was weird. Like, drug-weird. I'm all, "Hey," and he's all, "Hey."

"Umm…" I say," where am I?"

"I'm afraid you're not anywhere," he answered. He then scratched his head. "Or, uh…I don't know. I don't know where we are, either. It looks like we're in an office waiting room or whatever."

I stare at him. He stares at me. Then, he speaks.

"So…uhhhh…sit tight…?"

I just about have a heart attack (HAH), and I shout, "HOLY SHIT—I'M NOT IN HELL, AM I—?!!!"

"…Dude. No. Are you drunk?"

"How can I be DRUNK? I just got shot!"

"Well, I exploded. I guess we _all_ don't win."

I pout at him, until he mutters, "Look, man. _Calm down_. I'm just as confused as you are. One second I'm in the real world, walking around, then some psychopath suddenly grabs me and I go KA-BOOM all over the pavement. What a sucky death."

"Oh, please. How many people can say that they've blown up? NOT MANY. Getting shot is hideous and lame and ewwwww."

"Shut it! Getting shot is a gorgeous death—a spurt of blood from something so tiny. It's beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking. Exploding is just messy and think of all the intestines everywhere. If I blew up around other people, they'd have me all over them. And unless they have some sort of flesh fetish, I'd be a sad little puppy. I mean, honestly."

We got at it for about ten more minutes (now that I look back at it, our lives must suck hard if the only thing we had to do was talk about which of our deaths was better), until someone else randomly pops up. I nearly crap myself, because it's some one so…_small_.

The little girl (WHO LOOKS LIKE ELYSIA) looks at us and blinks, and the dude I was talking about nearly craps himself, too.

"Nina! NINA! Is that you—?!!"

He scoops her up in his arms, and rocks her around, and she looks ready to scream.

"Who are you…?" she mutters, tilting her head to the side.

"Alexander! It's me, ALEXANDER!!" That little dork can hardly contain himself.

"Alexander…? My doggie?"

I gasp loudly, which completely ruins the whole moment. But whatever. "Wait, you're a _dog_?"

Alexander sets Nina down. "Well, I used to be, down in the real world. I guess when animals die, they turn into humans. It feels…strange. I mean…"—he starts unzipping his pants—"…what am I supposed to do with _this_ thi—"

"NO. NO. NOOOOOOO."

After flailing for a few minutes, I get up the courage to finally really _look_ at the two weirdoes. They're laughing and smiling, and it's pretty heartwarming. Nina has these really cute braids and Alexander is just…dog…ish. I kind of want to join them on their little emotional adventure, but I'd only known them for about ten minutes, and I don't want my badass-of-a-gotee to accidentally scratch them or something.

Just sayin'.

"Uhhhhhh," I start blabbering. "Should we really just be sitting here? We could be walking into our mortal doom…Wait. If we're sitting, we can't be 'walking into our mortal doom.' Let me rephrase the previous sentence then: we could be _getting_ into our mortal doom. See? Isn't that so much better—?!!"

Alexander raises an eyebrow. "Geez. You sure do talk a lot."

"What's your name, Mister?" Nina asks.

"Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes! I'm in the military, you see. I have a wife and a kid and I live life on the EDGE! Which is why I'm in the military! I enjoy the challenge. And walks on the beach, too. But since I'm in the military, I don't have time for fun, rebellious activities like that! Good stuff, good stuff…"

"Oh, so you're in the military?" Alexander says. "I knew I recognized that blinding uniform. You look like a damn zeppelin—one I hope _blows up very soon_." Man, this guy had a really short attention span, apparently. HE'S the one who blew up. "And are those _bloomers_ you're wearing?"

"Why, yes. You're a sharp one."

"I HATE the military. I've always had. You bastards ALWAYS threatened to shoot me just because I always broke out of the house, AND when that Tucker started performing experiments on me, you were nowhere in sight! _'SEWING LIFE ALCHEMIST' MY NEUTERED ASS!_"

The little girl tugged on his sleeve. "_Alex_…"

"Nina, give me a second—I'm going to show this asshole the damn light." He turned back to me. "Look, Mr. Man—I was raised in one of those military-owned dog pounds down in Central HQ. The food was nice, the company was pretty good, the atmosphere left a lot to be desired…But that was BEFORE the low-ranking guys started coming and making things a little _more_ 'friendly'…And I do mean _FRIENDLY_. I hope you damn lazy non-combat men had medical records, because if that bastard has some sort of transferable disease, I will fight myself back to Earth and drop-kick his sick ass—"

"ALEX! You're saying poo-poo words!"

I'm gawking by now. "_Real _poo-poo words…"

"Be quiet!" Alexander snaps. "You're probably giving me herpes or something by just talking to me! I've inhaled too much of your air, _thank you_—"

There's this beeping. It's from an alarm, I can tell, and the room is turning red with the beeps. It comes to a stop, and a voice on the intercom says: "Alexander! Nina! Emergency exit—!!"

And before I know it, a trap-door is opening under the couch Nina and Alexander are sitting on, and they go tumbling through it. It's very comic-like, and I almost laugh, but now that I think about it, it's pretty damn tragic. The hatch closes and an identical couch comes flying through the ceiling on the same spot. Like nothing happened.

It's _scary as hell_ and I'm all alone.

Until…!

_BEEP!_

A new guest!

It's a girl. She has very pucker-y lips, and these weird faces paintings. Her tank top was very buff, so I pretty much assumed she was into girls. Not to mention her _hair_ reminded me of a chicken's ass. But it's not like I was going to say that out loud.

…Which I did.

"Your hair reminds me of a chicken's ass."

"Well, your _face_ reminds me of just about every other middle-aged mans' on this show."

Ouch.

Needless to say, we didn't get off on the right foot (or like…anything). She kept on glaring at me, and _uncomfortable_ is pretty much the only word to describe it. Thankfully, the trap-door bit came quickly, and she was gone in a snap.

The atmosphere was a lot less stiff, and I felt like I could kick back. There was even a stack of magazines there, but most of them were smut and I'm a man of morals. So, they were left untouched and I amused myself by blowing that single strand of hair that's always in my face (his name is Tommy). It lasted about, what, ten minutes, until someone _else_ popped up. So I knew more madness would ensue.

"Well, hey there, Pops," he said. Off to a good start, I'd say! His sunglasses were amazingly spiffy, and I couldn't help but wonder if he could see anything, because we WERE indoors.

"Hi!" I shouted. "I'm Maes! I'm close to reaching insanity, so PLEASSSSE talk to me. Without, you know, attacking me. Or licking me." Yeah. I went off the deep-end. But the fichus at the side of the room was like, STARING at me, and I needed to distract myself. And since I was DEAD at the time (though, I still am—TALK ABOUT IRONIC!), who needed a good reputation?

He shifted in his seat. He was really, really, REALLY sly, and I couldn't help but stare. His teeth were pointy and I wanted to throw a fishing pole line at him just to see what'd he do. But waiting raises anticipation, my friends. And his outfit looked like it costed more than my house…and I have a pretty damn good house. I could smelt him from where I was sitting (across the room), and he reeked of dead cow (must've been the leather), smoke, and some indescribable smell. Which is pretty describable, but it's not like _you_ know the smell of Gracia's va—

…Oh, wait.

ANYway, he's all, "So, _Maes_, I guess you can tell me where the hell I am. Last thing I remember, some shrimpass little kid's hand was having some bonding time with my bowels. And, ugh, I STILL need to get Tabby some diapers…Dammit!"

As much as I wanted to scream, "FIC PIMP," by then, I sucked it up and said, "I don't really know. But I can tell that in _there_"—I nodded to the gold-plated door to beside us—"is going to decide our fate. And I'm guessing we're good guys, because some rabies-infested dog, his love five-year-old love slave, and some random nameless chick got shot down to the depths of hell already. So, uhhhh…we should pat ourselves on the back, man."

And we did.

"But let's be serious here," he says. "Why am _I_ here? My record isn't exactly spotless. I slept with like, FIVE girls last night. At the same time. _Under damn influence._ The guy in charge here must be seriously forgiving."

I decided to pull out the 'compassion' card. "I guess what they say is true—deep down, everyone has a little good in them."

"Heh. Right. You need to stop banging fortune cookies, Pops.

We were seriously having this man-to-man moment there, and then MY name is called on the intercom…! No beeping lights, though, so all was well. The gold door swung open and it was pitch black in there. I was freaked out, but my new friend had some words of wisdom:

"Watch your ass, _Mays_-flower."

It was touching to see my name turned into some pansy petname pun, and I smiled. I walked through the door and it shut instantly. It was just an office in there! But whoever's office it was, he was probably the Big Man on campus. The walls were lined with trophies and ribbons and even a picture of _whoever_ that person was meeting the Pope and giving the cameraman a thumbs-up. I walked up to the desk, and the chair swung around, revealing an old, bearded fellow.

"Hey there, Hughes," he greets.

"Ummmm, hey…?"

"Have a seat." I sat down across from him, and he held up a bowl of candy. "Jujube?"

"No…thanks…"

He set the bowl down. Giving me a long and hard look, he took out a file and opened it. Inside, was (quite a snazzy) picture of me and some documents. He put on his glasses, scanned through everything, and then took them off.

He finally spoke.

"Maes, I'll just say it loud and clear: you are a real asset to this series. When you died, you cannot BELIEVE how many lonely, Adult Swim-adoring tweens sobbed on your behalf. And, well, Maes…we still need you."

"Wh-what?"

He took a deep breath. "Your death was untimely. That cow should pay, but she's been raking in the bucks since a shounen series with actual plot and character development entered the market. And I'm willing to let you have a little time back…if agree, of course."

"What do you mean…?"

"This series NEEDS you, Maes! So many LOL's have come from YOUR antics and YOUR pedophilic tendencies—"

"Hey!"

"—and I could just let you go like I did those lame side story bastards, but I'm not like that! Screw Ed and Al having random moments of 'warmth'! People don't even KNOW those one-episode characters (except Russell and Fletcher…they're just too cute!)! _I _SURE AS HELL DON'T."

"Whoa, man, easy!"

"SO, MAES HUGHES, AGE THIRTY-SIX…DO YOU WANT SOME MORE TIME? Even just a _little_? It doesn't even have to be YOU! We can get one of those sprites that can transform into people and make you a figment of someone's imagination!! What do you say…?"

I didn't know what to say. So I did the only LOGICAL thing, since that guy looked seriously close to bursting something:

I agreed.

He grinned like a schoolboy and stamped a big, red _'CAMEO'_ on my file.

"Next!"

The End.


End file.
